


Overexposed

by monopoisoner



Category: ONEUS (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Photographer, Anal Sex, M/M, Mentioned Kim Geonhak | Leedo, Mentioned Lee Seoho - Freeform, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 06:56:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21132527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monopoisoner/pseuds/monopoisoner
Summary: “If it wasn’t for an overexposed picture, I wouldn’t have spoken to you that first time. I think it’s a lucky thing for us.”





	Overexposed

Hwanwoong felt the eyes rather than saw them.

At first, he’d thought it was his imagination. The shoot was finishing up, with staff packing their things away. Most were making small talk with those nearby, but none actively sought his conversation. They were all much too busy with their tasks. The few glances they could spare, they gave it to the model. Rarely did anyone pay mind to the photographer, much less his right hand. Yet he couldn’t quite shake off the feeling of being watched.

“Hwanwoong.” An unfamiliar voice called his name.

He looked up and met an uncannily direct gaze. He froze. For that brief second, Hwanwoong felt like prey. He squared his shoulders, pushing the feeling away. He’d never been shy, and he wasn’t about to start now.

“Ah, Youngjo. Nice work today.” It was difficult to maintain a facade of confidence when one had to tilt their chin up to even make eye contact. Still, the blonde managed. A glint of amusement colored the older male’s expression. Hwanwoong had an idea why. Anyone else, he would’ve made a snide comment, but in the hierarchy, Kim Youngjo was far above him in the ladder. He continued cleaning his lenses, yet the model stayed nearby, waiting for him to finish. With each second that passed, Hwanwoong felt more and more uncomfortable under his scrutiny. He barely held back a sigh of relief when he put the final lens in its place.

“I guess that’s it. See you tomorrow then.”

“Bye then, Hwanwoong. Looking forward to how the shots turn out.” There was a slight smile on his lips that the shorter male couldn’t figure out. Then again, that was part of his appeal. An enigmatic expression that left you guessing; it was Youngjo’s signature look.

With a final nod, Hwanwoong turned to leave the room. The feeling of someone watching him returned. When he turned, Youngjo simply smiled and waved at him before walking away towards the dressing room. A feeling nagged at Hwanwoong, unable to pinpoint what was wrong with the entire exchange with Youngjo.

It wasn’t until he was on the train ride home that he realized he’d never introduced himself to Youngjo in the first place.

  


Youngjo grinned as his stylist and closest friend frowned at his entrance. He and Seoho had been friends for years now. Both started at the bottom. Now both enjoyed the privilege that came with being respected in their profession. Youngjo shut the door behind him, allowing them some privacy.

“What took you so long? Those clothes aren’t yours, I still need to put them back.” Looking as effortlessly styled as a model himself, Seoho lounged on the only couch in the dressing room. The only clues that belied his almost ten-hour workday were the irritable temper and bandages around his fingers. Rushed alterations often meant being pricked by the needle.

“We both know they’re going to give them to me once the shoot is over.” Still, he complied, undressing comfortably and taking the clothes Seoho tossed in his direction. As he put on his clothes, Seoho continued his interrogation.

“Usually you’re rushing to leave the shoot ASAP. What happened?” When Youngjo remained silent, he sat up from the couch in curiosity. Youngjo wasn’t an extrovert, but he wasn’t one to hide things from him either.

Then it clicked.

“It’s the shortie photographer, isn’t it?” The model’s silence was all the answer he needed. “You were staring at him when you thought no one was looking.”

Youngjo paused in cleaning his make-up, staring with what appeared to be apprehension. Seoho waved away his concern, motioning for him to continue. There’d be bigger problems than Youngjo’s small crush if his skin broke out.

“Don’t worry, I’m the only one who could tell. With how long I’ve known you? You’d be hard-pressed to hide anything from me.” He hung the clothes as he spoke, waiting for Youngjo to respond. The model sat on the styling chair, his fatigue showing in the soft shadows beneath his eyes. Make-up could easily hide them, but there was no denying he was tired once it came off.

“He’s cute.” The explanation was simple, but the small smile on his face told there was a bigger story behind it. He was quick to cover it with a mask, but Seoho had already seen it. There wasn’t time for the stylist to question him further, however. Youngjo already had his bag in hand, doorknob half-turned.

The model suddenly stopped in the task, walking back to Seoho with his eyes on the ground. Suspicion filled him; his friend wasn’t the type to suddenly change his mind. When Youngjo met his gaze, there was mischief in his eyes. Before Seoho could react, he felt their lips meet and Youngjo made a mad dash to the exit before the younger man could sock him square on his pretty face.

“See you tomorrow, Seoho!”

  


“Woongie, over here.” Hwanwoong quickly moved over to his partner’s side. Partner was a generous term though. Geonhak was above him in terms of skill and experience, but the older male insisted on treating him as an equal. It took Hwanwoong almost a year to grow comfortable with the idea, but he’d managed.

The blonde looked up to make eye contact, his question evident on his face. He felt the scrutiny in the taller one’s gaze, then watched Geonhak nod in some unknown agreement. The next words shocked him as much as they excited him.

“You’re taking point today.”

“Really? I’ll take it, but why the sudden decision?”

“Experience? He’d look good in your portfolio.” Geonhak shrugged, leaning against the wall as he did. “Plus, it’s hard to fuck up when your subject’s going to be doing most of the work for you.” Hwanwoong was inclined to agree. The shoot yesterday was efficient, requiring very little staff meddling on his part. That was thanks in no small part to the model’s abilities.

“I’ll do it then.”

“As if you had a choice in the first place. I’ve got other things to do. I won’t be around, but Dongju’s coming in later to help.” With that, Geonhak slung his camera bag over his shoulder and left.

The next couple of hours passed without Hwanwoong noticing, lost in preparing the set for the shoot. The studio that was quiet when he’d first come in was now filled with cacophonous noise as the staff rushed to do their tasks. At some point Kim Youngjo arrived; he knew this without seeing him. Hwanwoong felt the air still as people paused their tasks to look at him. He squarely kept his gaze on his light diffuser, refusing to be distracted by anyone as he adjusted its position.

The shoot soon began, he switched gears. Where he’d been avoiding looking at him before, the only one in his line of sight now was Youngjo. Even through the viewfinder, the intensity of his subject’s gaze never faltered. It was as if he were looking straight through him. Logically, Hwanwoong knew that he was simply looking at the camera. But there were moments, like right after he took the shot and put his camera down, where their eyes would meet. There was something intimate about how Youngjo looked at him. It made his throat run dry when he’d just drunk and his hands shake when experience had already taught them how to remain steady.

He wasn’t stupid. Most people would be attracted to Youngjo, and clearly, Hwanwoong was no exception. More than once, he caught himself wondering what it would be like to hold his attention. He did it more times than he cared to admit. His physical features aside, the sheer intensity of his eyes made the photographer in him want to capture it in a still. It would be a test of his abilities, and he loved nothing more than a challenge. And here he was, given that very chance, yet distracted by that same gaze.

The blonde looked at the model, seated underneath the studio lights. Despite the heat, the older man looked untouched. The only sign of discomfort was a bead of sweat running down his right temple. Instantly it was patted away by staff, and he looked perfect once again. He raised his camera, focused on his profile and took a shot. Without even looking at the result, Hwanwoong knew it would be amongst the best in today’s set.

  


This time, when Youngjo approached the photographer, he had a plan. Yesterday was testing the waters. Hwanwoong being the lead in today’s shoot came as unexpected, but it worked out in his favor. Seoho already left, telling him he needed to keep his dick in his pants. He’d snorted derisively at that. Coming from someone who was about to go over to his boyfriend’s place, that was rich.

From his vantage point at the doorway, he could see the photographer seated on the floor, a computer on his lap. Only the monitor’s light illuminated his face, his brows furrowed in concentration over whatever he was looking at.

“Hwanwoong,” Just like yesterday, he looked up in response. As their gazes met, Hwanwoong’s eyes widened in surprise and he almost dropped the laptop, catching it just before it slid onto the hardwood floor. Youngjo smiled, offering a hand to help him out. After a brief moment of hesitation, Hwanwoong took it. He was clearly reluctant and took his hand more to be polite than anything else.

“Ah, Youngjo. I didn’t realize you were still here.” Despite his obvious discomfort, Hwanwoong made the effort to maintain eye contact. He appreciated that.

“I’m more surprised you are. Everyone’s already left.” The blonde studied the empty room, disbelief evident in his features. Frankly, Youngjo wasn’t surprised. During the shoot, Hwanwoong often fell into an uninterruptible focus where Youngjo was the one who had to chase his pace.

“Why haven’t you?” Youngjo watched him reach for a bag under the table, stuffing the laptop into its slot inside. He took his time answering, looking for a plausible excuse. He knew the silence made him sound suspicious, but he was willing to bet Hwanwoong would be too polite to call him out. He decided to stick closer to the truth.

“Didn’t feel like going home yet.” He shrugged. “Have you eaten?”

There again — an unasked question in his eyes. Hwanwoong didn’t voice it this time as well. He made the expression often in the couple of days they worked together. Youngjo found himself wondering if he did it out of habit or he simply wasn’t comfortable enough around him. A mix of both in all likelihood.

Hwanwoong shook his head, his blonde hair bouncing with the movement.

“Join me then?” Youngjo saw the refusal before Hwanwoong could even say it. It was there in the sudden distance, in the way he refused to meet his eyes. He went for a less direct approach. “I don’t get to eat with people often since I live alone. It’s a bit lonely.”

“Ah, why not invite... Seoho? He’s your friend right? I think he might be better company for you than a stranger.” Despite the refusal, it was a weak one.

“He left, and plans to have dinner with his lover. Unless they break up in the next 10 minutes or I crash their date, I’m on my own.” Hwanwoong choked back a laugh. He was meeting his eyes again; a good sign.

“Come on. I’ll treat you.” That got a laugh out of him; Youngjo grinned in response.

“Fine, I’ll go. No regrets if I go over your budget.”

“Don’t worry. If your photos are any good that should cover the payment.”

Hwanwoong laughed again. “Then we’re good. Let’s go.”

  


Hwanwoong wasn’t the least bit surprised by Youngjo’s choice. It was a quiet upscale bar; the atmosphere was intimate and clientele exclusive. When he’d asked him about it, it made sense. Privacy was the name of the game here, and for someone with the model’s high profile, it was obvious he valued that highly.

“Plus, the food’s good.”

And it really was. Despite his initial discomfort, the delicious meal and the conversation that centered around work let him relax. Youngjo didn’t often chat with the staff, but he was good at speaking. He let his partner feel at ease and knew when to steer the conversation away from certain subjects.

Beyond that, however, was his delivery. Youngjo’s voice was one of contrasts. He said certain words nasally but enunciated others so clearly. There was warmth in his voice, but a piercing quality existed that told him his words could just as easily cut as they could soothe. Hwanwoong could just as easily imagine him making his living as a radio DJ, enveloping his listeners in a voice that was so telling of his personality.

More than once he’d caught Youngjo staring at him. As always, the expression was unreadable. He clearly didn’t let others know more than he wanted. And that would’ve been fine—if Hwanwoong wasn’t enjoying the attention. Because of that, he wanted to know why Youngjo stared. His curiosity was burning, especially after last night when Youngjo had done little more than follow him with his eyes. He was now sure that the gaze he’d felt was Youngjo’s. After being under his scrutiny all day, it was difficult to mistake the feeling for anyone else.

It wasn’t a one-sided staring contest, however. Whenever Youngjo’s attention was on something else, Hwanwoong would take the chance to study him. He could lie and say it was the photographer in him appreciating his features. That would be easy to tell himself and eventually believe. But again, he wasn’t a fan of lying, to others or himself. Tonight’s dinner added a personality to the pretty face he’d stared at all day long.

And he really liked both.

Now that conversation was winding down and dinner was coming to an end, he felt himself wishing for more time. A big difference from the beginning when he’d been desperately trying to excuse himself, even after agreeing. As if Youngjo could sense it, he invited him for drinks after; the temptation to say yes was strong. But he refused, citing their work tomorrow.

So they said goodbye, with Youngjo somehow wrangling his number from him (he wasn’t sure how — he’d been against it but wound up adding the model’s private line onto his contacts) and they separated. Hwanwoong expected it to be a one-off thing, with this probably the first and last time he shared a private meal with him. He didn’t expect him to actually keep contact after their work together was done.

That still didn’t stop the disappointment that crept in when he went to bed to a silent phone, or the way his heart picked up when he saw he got a message from Youngjo in the morning.

It was another invite to a meal, and this time, Hwanwoong didn’t even hesitate to reply yes.

  


It was their fourth (maybe fifth, if you counted the quick coffee break during that time they happened to work at the same location) shared meal. The shoot they met at was long finished, but they still talked. He thought he’d grow used to the thrill, believing it was something like being starstruck. If anything, his excitement grew with each puzzle piece he gained on the persona that was Kim Youngjo.

Part of it was how much he was growing to like the man. Beyond the figure that graced ads and magazines was an insightful man who chose to communicate more with gestures than words. Yet he still spoke well, able to capture and deflect attention with easy grace. Hwanwoong knew he had a quick-witted and dry sense of humor. His delivery was part of it; he said it so casually that you had to think for a moment before it hit. He imagined his insults would be along the same vein.

But the biggest problem was Youngjo himself. As they grew more comfortable with each other, Hwanwoong learned that he was a touchy one. He often reached over to hold his hands, to fix his hair for him, even feed him a bite from his plate — he did it so casually, Hwanwoong didn’t even think to protest. By the time he realized what was happening, Youngjo had already ceased the chance. It left his heart racing, his mind a jumbled mess. His responses were embarrassingly slow and stilted. He ate less than usual, and if Youngjo noticed, he didn’t comment on it.

Maybe that’s why during tonight’s dinner, Hwanwoong said yes to the alcohol. He’d been poor company all dinner. They moved from their table to the bar, where they sat shoulder to shoulder. Hwanwoong was hyperaware of Youngjo’s presence to his right, almost causing him to knock over the drink he ordered. He quickly tossed it down to take the edge off, then ordered another. This time, he didn’t down it in one go.

“Is this normal for you?” Youngjo asked, a small smile evident on his lips. Hwanwoong felt his focus stay there a beat too long, but managed to force himself to meet his eyes.

“No, not really. Just a bit nervous.” Hwanwoong took another small sip.

“Why?”

“You.” He hadn’t meant to the truth slip. He cursed his earlier self for picking at his food instead of eating it.

Rather than respond, the model hummed and let the tension dissipate as a band set up in a corner of the room. The smooth jazz, the stream of alcohol and Youngjo’s occasional comments let him relax. When the black-haired man reached for a napkin on Hwanwoong’s side, he instinctively leaned into his warmth. He didn’t push him away; the opposite really. Youngjo nudged his seat closer, letting Hwanwoong rest against his side. He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that. He wasn’t sure if they would have left before closing if it hadn’t been a text from his roommate asking where he was.

Their footsteps echoed in the empty dimly-lit hallway leading to the stairwell. The atmosphere between them was thick. Neither said anything. Frankly, there wasn’t anything that needed to be said. Hwanwoong knew that if he didn’t do something about it, he would grow insane. Abruptly, he stopped in his tracks, Youngjo bumping into his back.

“Something wrong?” Youngjo bent down, concern evident.

Hwanwoong didn’t bother responding. He simply turned around, stood on tiptoes and pulled the taller man down, forcing their lips to meet. Youngjo froze—Hwanwoong felt a sliver of fear that he’d misread the entire atmosphere—and then suddenly there was a tongue probing at the seam of his lips, warm hands running feather-light touches across his body. When he parted his lips, he was pushed against the wall at the same time Youngjo’s tongue met his.

If someone passed by or if anything at all happened, Hwanwoong couldn’t be sure if he would have noticed. His world was reduced to their matching breaths, the way Youngjo occasionally nipped at his lips and how he soothed it with his tongue right after. He found difficulty opening his eyes when they finally separated, instantly missing Youngjo’s warmth as he stepped away from the embrace. He felt quiet pride at how the normally perfect model looked disheveled, his face flushed and his hair a mess created by his own hands. They looked at each other, neither saying a word. It was as if they were afraid one wrong sound could cause the end.

It was Youngjo who broke the silence first.

“Let’s meet again tomorrow?” Something on his face probably said how he felt because the model laughed before pecking him on the lips once again. “Cute. But you’ve drunk, and I’ve got work in the morning—” he checked his watch ”—later today in fact.”

Alarm managed to force its way past his drowsiness. “Then why did you—”

“I wanted to see you.”

“Youngjo, you shouldn’t be staying up late. Seoho is going to kick my—” His lecture was cut short by the ring of his phone; the cab he’d called for was waiting downstairs already. Irritation colored his face at being interrupted twice in a row. He moved away, peeved at Youngjo, but mostly himself, for not taking into account the model’s packed schedule. He should’ve expected it in the first place. Hell, he had a job in a few hours. Why did he agree to stay so late? The fact the black-haired man could make him forget about his own work made him uneasy.

They made quick work of the stairs going down, and soon Hwanwoong was opening the door to the cab.

“Call me when you get home.” His words came out muffled. He kept his face hidden behind a mask, even in the darkness. If Hwanwoong softened at the statement, he didn’t show it. He wordlessly climbed into the back, citing his address to the driver and closing the door without looking at Youngjo.

He only looked back once. Youngjo stood, illuminated by the light of a streetlamp, his long figure looking both formidable yet lonely. He watched, and only sat back down when the cab turned a corner and he couldn’t see him anymore.

  


“It’s overexposed.” A deep voice commented behind Hwanwoong. He swiveled around, his chair turning to face his partner. He frowned at Geonhak, then spun back to face the monitor. He had to agree.

“It’s a shame too. It’s a nice shot otherwise.” Geonhak moved away, knowing the blonde preferred space when he worked. There was a reason why their workstations were in separate corners of the office. “You could probably find a way to use it for your portfolio though.” He shrugged and went back to his desk, immediately disappearing into his own post-production tasks.

Hwanwoong stared at the raw image. He’d been so sure that this was the money shot. It was the candid side profile he’d taken of Youngjo, when he’d looked his most untouchable. But when he’d submitted the photos to the clothing company, this one was rejected. He could see why though; the highlights were overblown, the shadows grainy. You couldn’t even see the details of the clothes he wore, which was supposedly the primary focus.

“Overexposed.” He muttered the word quietly, his brows furrowing in concentration. He closed the image and now faced hundreds of thumbnails from that shoot. Even minimized, shots of when Youngjo faced the camera stood out.

Overexposed. The word repeated in his head. An apt term for more than just photography. He felt the same way whenever Youngjo directed his gaze at him. He had eyes that went straight to the heart, ripping it out and making it his own. Hwanwoong couldn’t deny it; he’d stolen at least part of his already. It was why he’d panicked so much last night. It was so easy to forget everything when he was around the model.

But was there really so much to worry about? He scrolled through the images, finding yet another shot that had too much light. It seemed he made that mistake often with Youngjo. It was the eyes; he tried so hard to capture their intensity that he missed the rest. Yet there was a vulnerability in them that he couldn’t ignore. He hid it well during shoots, but the model revealed it when they were alone.

Hwanwoong reached for the bottle of water beside him, contemplating as he sipped. There was a chance Youngjo had given up when he hadn’t called him back last night. But instinct told him he’d be back soon, the same one that told him it had been Youngjo staring at him in the set that first night. If he was wrong, then Hwanwoong would be the one to come to him.

But he trusted his gut and waited until the model made the first move.

  


Youngjo’s patience was up.

Much to Seoho’s amusement, the model practically fled the shoot as soon as he was done, citing personal business. Well, personal was right. Hwanwoong had refused to meet him after that, saying he needed to focus on his work. Just when it felt like he’d taken a step forward, their relationship pulled two steps back.

He stood at the doorway of a simple two-floor building that served as the offices for Twilight Studio. Several scenarios ran through his mind. He thought of two that would be most likely.

The first, Hwanwoong would boot him on his ass for interrupting him at his place of work. Considering how he’d been so close to chewing him out last time over it, there was a high possibility of this happening. But he knew with that, he would eventually come around.

The second was that Hwanwoong had taken the time to think about it and wanted to remain friends. The thought pierced through his heart; he pushed it away. If his hand shook as he pushed open the door, he didn’t notice.

No one was at the front desk; a simple handwritten sign said to go to the back. So he followed the instructions. He went to a short hallway just past, following the soft whirr of a camera shutter and the brief light from what he guessed was a flash. He didn’t make his steps quiet; he did the opposite, not wanting to surprise Hwanwoong.

“Doya, did you forget something?” The blonde was there, kneeling in front of a table where plastic flowers lay artfully arranged. He took one last shot before turning around. The shock on his face would’ve been comical if he didn’t feel the sting of hurt. Hwanwoong was the first to recover, standing up. “Sorry, I thought you were Geonhak. Why are you here Youngjo?”

He didn’t have a good answer to the question. He could tell the truth—say that he’d been in love with Hwanwoong long before he’d even learned his name. But it was painfully obvious that their feelings hadn’t yet caught up to each other’s.

“I wanted to say sorry.”

“For what?” Hwanwoong stepped closer, his face expectant.

“You’re right. I should’ve been more responsible with my work.” And he meant it. The exhaustion from lack of sleep and worry about the fight showed on his face. Seoho gave him a verbal beatdown during the shoot after their last exchange. He’d deserved every second of it. He didn’t even have the energy to tease his friend about his nagging, an activity he often relished doing.

Hwanwoong remained silent, finally coming to a stop directly in front of him. His face remained impassive, and Youngjo felt his heart sink. He’d said the wrong thing. He’d fucked it up. He should’ve—

The photographer broke into a smile, raising to tiptoes to meet their lips. It was just a brief touch; Youngjo was too stunned to even react. His expression must’ve said it all, as Hwanwoong wound up laughing when their eyes met again.

“I was more pissed with myself for not noticing that you were pushing the meetings.” It wasn’t the full truth, but it would do. He’d acknowledged that Youngjo had made himself a place in his heart, but he wasn’t about to tell him that. He didn’t mind free-falling, but with Youngjo it was like he’d jumped in headfirst with a blindfold.

He shrugged, stepping away from the still shell-shocked Youngjo to begin packing up. The photographer itched to take a photo but stopped himself. It was rare to see an unveiled expression Youngjo; capturing it felt like it would sully it. “I was actually planning to call you after I finished work today.” If it was possible to look more surprised, Youngjo somehow managed it. He hid his laugh, turning his back to the taller man while he put his camera in its case.

When he finished putting his things away, Youngjo was still standing where he’d left him. The shock had worn off, but instead, wariness and a hint of embarrassment were the primary emotions on his face. There was a thrill in being the one throwing the elder for a loop for once.

“Do you have work tomorrow?”

Youngjo paused, confusion evident on his face. It was as if only part of his mind had caught up to the reality of his situation. “No, my next shoot’s two days from now.” He’d planned it that way, in case today’s meeting ended badly.

Hwanwoong grabbed onto his hand, his bag already slung over a shoulder. “Then let’s go get dinner.”

  


They ate dinner together as they’d done a couple of times before, but a new undercurrent flowed between them. A very palpable shift in their relationship occurred, and its repercussions were evident in their every interaction. Soft gazes, lingering touches, stolen kisses when no one was looking; all of it was layered underneath an intimacy that didn’t exist before.

Despite his earlier bravado, nervousness sat like a steel ball in Hwanwoong’s gut. It was the location of their first date (a word he still wasn’t used to in the context of his company), but not even the familiarity could soothe his overwrought nerves. When Youngjo finally called for the check, he was about ready to jump out of his skin.

The two stood side by side, hiding beneath the shade of the shop’s awning. Rain pattered down in big steady drops. Not quite a downpour yet, but enough to muffle the sounds of the city and give them a sense of privacy.

“When is your ride arriving?”

Hwanwoong gave him the most incredulous look. All the nerves he’d felt left him in one fell swoop; he laughed. Youngjo acted smooth, but when push came to shove, he would miss hints that were practically being broadcasted to his face.

“We’re waiting for yours.”

“Oh.” It was a brief syllable, but Hwanwoong could hear the flustered tone. Youngjo remained silent afterward, clearly processing the implications. He didn’t say anything when the cab arrived; he only spoke to confirm the address of his apartment.

The ride was quiet; the blonde turned to Youngjo ready to make conversation but stopped. His focus was on something far ahead. Hwanwoong found it fascinating how he could physically see the model pull himself together. His shoulders relaxed, his expression slowly blanked out. By the time they were walking past building security, Youngjo was his usual self.

In the close confines of the elevator, Hwanwoong found he couldn’t look at Youngjo. He looked straight ahead, but even that was a mistake as the metal doors had a mirror finish. Youngjo met his eyes through the reflection, the intensity not the least bit diminished even in the indirect eye contact. The button-down he wore felt too constricting; when he reached to pull the collar, Youngjo followed his hand with his gaze. There was something quietly intimate about his eyes and he found himself putting his hand back down.

The elevator ride wasn’t more than a minute, but to the pair, it was an eternity. Youngjo fumbled with the passcode of his apartment security once, the only giveaway of his nervousness. They stood at the entrance hallway, neither moving a muscle once the door closed behind them.

“Hwanwoong,” The shorter man felt rather than saw him shift to face him. The ball of nerves was back in his gut, but this time anticipation mixed with anxiety in a heady concoction. He still didn’t look, afraid he would push him down to the floor if the brown eyes that met his were anything like gaze they’d exchanged through the elevator doors’ reflection.

“You can set the pace.” That surprised him; he’d expected Youngjo to take the lead. He turned to his left, finally facing him, and understood. He’d misinterpreted his silence as hesitance. Youngjo’s eyes spoke of desire, but there was also concern. The fact he cared so much warmed something in him, but it wasn’t an emotion he wanted to think about just then.

Hwanwoong pulled the taller male’s shirt collar down, forcibly bringing Youngjo eye level to him. With how close they were now, they practically shared the same breath. He gulped, and Youngjo’s cat-like gaze followed the movement of his throat. He wanted to make the next move; Hwanwoong could feel it. But true to his word, Youngjo kept his hands to his side.

They stayed like that for what seemed to be an eternity, silently watching each other, until Youngjo broke it.

“Hwanwoong, either you pull me closer or push me away. Take your pick. Any longer and you don’t get a choice anymore.” He was joking, the words at odds with what he’d just said earlier. The smirk on his lips seemed relaxed, but his brown eyes held an intensity that made it impossible to look away.

In other circumstances, the photographer in Hwanwoong would’ve wanted to capture that expression. It was hypnotic. But at the moment, all he could think was it was meant exclusively for him. That gaze caused him to shiver, and finally close the distance between them.

Hesitance first colored the kiss, but it didn’t take long until it became a give and take between them. Youngjo’s hands first gripped his arms, as if asking for permission. It was granted when Hwanwoong lifted his arms around his neck to deepen the kiss further. At some point, the younger one was backed against the wall, but Hwanwoong could only be grateful for the support it lent him. His knees felt like they were about to buckle and as if sensing that, Youngjo lifted him against the solid surface.

Doing that lined up their groins, and Youngjo took the opportunity to grind against him. The friction of their clothes made it both better and worse; Hwanwoong’s brain short-circuited. Through their open-mouthed kiss, Youngjo felt him moan. He couldn’t help it; he smiled in satisfaction as he pulled away. The flushed cheeks, the swollen lips — there was pride in being the cause of Hwanwoong’s disheveled state. Slowly, Youngjo let him slide down, keeping him pressed against the wall and himself. The clouds in his eyes cleared out to be replaced with mild confusion.

“Bed?” He kept the question simple. Frankly, he wasn’t sure he could say anything more coherent than that.

Hwanwoong didn’t respond at first, his head tilted to the side as if he didn’t understand. Before Youngjo could say anything, a mischievous smile formed on the shorter one’s lips. Without warning, he reached over, caressing him through the fabric of his jeans. At the same time, he used his left hand to pull the model down once again so he could whisper in his ear.

“Floor or wall. Take your pick. Any longer and you won’t have a choice anymore.” The tone was a challenge. Youngjo smirked when he realized it was his own words parroted back at him. He lifted him against the wall again, repeating the movement that elicited such a strong reaction in Hwanwoong.

“Too many clothes.” His voice was more air than sound. His hands were just a little shaky as they tried to unbuttoned Youngjo’s shirt. Not out of nervousness. No, he was much too far gone for that. His movements were clumsy from excitement — and the distracting feel of Youngjo’s lips pressing open-mouthed kisses against his neck.

Youngjo bit down; the sudden pain caused Hwanwoong to swear. Almost instantly it was soothed by his tongue, the contrast its own form of pleasure. Giving up on the shirt, Hwanwoong’s hands moved lower, popping the clasp open on his trousers and tugging the zipper down. Youngjo stopped his hand from reaching in; he pulled at the hem of Hwanwoong’s shirt. Hwanwoong was more than happy to let him unbutton his shirt. Each brush of his fingertips was just a feather-light touch against his skin, but the feeling left him wanting more.

The moment he was able, Hwanwoong reached for him—the contact caused Youngjo to still. He wrapped his hands around his length, pumping a few times until he felt Youngjo instinctively buck into him.

Hwanwoong found the tip, slick with precum already. Rubbing it all over him, letting his hands grow wet with it; even as he was he pinned against the wall, he knew he had the upper hand on him. He could feel him struggle with control. The harsh breath he let out against his neck when he squeezed him told him what Youngjo didn’t say in words.

He slid down against the wall slowly, Youngjo supporting his weight until he felt his butt hit the ground. Only then did he pull his hand out. There was no shyness at all when brought his fingers to his lips, meeting his gaze as he licked them.

Youngjo was at the brink of losing it, and Hwanwoong wanted to push him off the edge. He muttered something (Hwanwoong wasn’t sure if it was a prayer or a curse) and tugged off his own shirt in one smooth movement. He’d admire the smooth planes of his chest and defined muscles another time; right now all the photographer wanted was to feel his warmth and touch his bare skin.

He pulled at his hand, and Youngjo immediately understood. He leaned forward to capture his lips. Hands threaded through black hair, destroying what careful styling the hairdresser had done hours ago. Hwanwoong felt him unbutton his jeans and tug; eager to help, he let go of Youngjo and pushed them down himself.

“Shit. I need a condom and lube.” He pulled away, breathing heavily as he tried to figure out if he had some in his apartment.

“Front pocket of my bag.”

He reached over to the camera bag, pulling out a small packet and tube. “Are you always this prepared?”

Hwanwoong answered with a smirk. “I was waiting for you to ask me out again.”

The implications of the statement floored him.

Something on his face must have given his thoughts away because Hwanwoong was laughing as he gestured for him to come back. The sound was light, clear; it caused him to smile even if the laughter was at his expense.

Youngjo pressed against his lips as he opened the tube, warming the lube up slightly as he rubbed it between his fingers. As the kiss deepened, he pressed a finger against his entrance. Youngjo felt the initial shock; Hwanwoong stiffened against him.

“Sorry, does it hurt?”

There was no hiding the grimace. “A bit. It’s been a while.” Hwanwoong gasped when he felt Youngjo’s free hand touch him. Long gentle strokes designed to soothe him. He moaned into his shoulder, biting down when he felt the stretch. Each scrape of his teeth was followed by the lap of a tongue; pain followed by gentleness. Youngjo shuddered but didn’t stop him.

Hwanwoong felt the second finger enter but the burn was gone, replaced by a growing pleasure at his gentle ministrations. All the while Youngjo kept whispering in his ear, talking of praises and what he planned to do to him. When the older male finally felt him relax, he licked his ear as he stretched him — the photographer’s moan was almost soundless. When he went deep and found his prostate, Hwanwoong’s responding soft whine near sent him to the brink.

He reached for the condom to his right, ripping it open and putting it on. Hwanwoong didn’t even hesitate to wrap his legs around him when Youngjo positioned himself at his entrance. He didn’t move, however, and the blonde pulled himself up on his elbows, meeting his eyes in question.

“You sure you don’t want to move this to the bed?” It killed him to even ask, but the hardwood floor of his apartment was hardly the most comfortable place. Irritation instantly lit Hwanwoong’s eyes at the question.

“Youngjo, will you just—” His words caught in his throat, a choked gasp escaped. He’d entered in one smooth thrust. The model held still for a beat, letting Hwanwoong get used to his shape. He felt him breathe in, out, and eventually relax again. When the shorter man ground against him, he took it as his cue to move.

Hwanwoong’s eyes were closed shut, while his mouth was open to breathe in time with their movements. Youngjo couldn’t help himself; he leaned forward and forced his tongue inside. Hwanwoong’s eyes flew open; he was clearly surprised but responded earnestly. Youngjo smiled and continued, mimicking each thrust with his tongue.

The blonde’s mind was slowly growing blank from pleasure. Yet something in him was still restless, seeking more. The wild gaze from when he’d tasted his Youngjo earlier was buried again, replaced by a restrained desire. He held himself at such a tight leash. Hwanwoong wanted to break it. He wanted bruises in the morning from being fucked senseless on the floor, wanted to feel him bite down hard enough on his skin to leave a mark. He’d lost all his self-restraint and wanted his partner to be in the same state of mind.

He pushed him away slightly. The model slowed his thrusts, quiet concern on his face. It touched him, but the gnawing ache inside him was a stronger force. “Youngjo, go harder.” Frustration dripped from every syllable.

“I’m gonna end up hurting you. All that’s between you and the floor is your shirt.” He’d left it on for a reason; the friction could rub Hwanwoong’s skin raw.

“Then let it hurt.”

“Woong!?”

“It’s frustrating!” The words spilled out before he could stop them. “I’m the only one losing my mind here. You’re calmly, logically, thinking things through, but here I am, the only one a fucking mess.”

Youngjo opened his mouth to protest, but Hwanwoong kept going.

“Stop caring about whether or not I’m comfortable; I’ll fucking kick you off if it hurts. I don’t have a fragile sticker on me.”

Youngjo could’ve kept his cool if the blonde had stopped just there. But it was his last sentence that unraveled the last of his control.

“It feels almost one-sided as if I’m the only one who’s gone insane.”

The sex would’ve been good and sweet, more an exploration of each other’s bodies than an instinctual mating. A perfect ode to how their first date went really. Youngjo pulled out, and Hwanwoong worried he’d said too much.

But then he was flipped onto his stomach and brought to his knees. His flushed cheek was forced against the cool wooden floors, one of Youngjo’s hands on his hips, the other on his back ensuring he stayed down. When Youngjo entered him again, the new angle rubbed right against his prostate and all he could do was choke back a sob with each stroke. This was the side Hwanwoong sought to match his own needs.

There was an almost painful quality to his lovemaking—desperation edged each move, there was more instinct than finesse in each thrust. And for Youngjo, it was a punishment for Hwanwoong. He had no right to complain of feeling one-sided when Youngjo had an unrequited love for a virtual stranger for years.

Yet it was this same love that caused him to lean down and press a soft kiss against Hwanwoong’s neck. He met him at each thrust, the two moving in an increasingly faster rhythm. He was close, so fucking close, but he held himself back until he heard the smaller man’s cracked cry.

The way he’d called his name as he climaxed did Youngjo in. He chased his own orgasm, the feeling of Hwanwoong tightening around him erasing every other thought from his mind.

Youngjo collapses atop of the photographer, the latter not even complaining about the weight. Both were too spent to do more than catch their breaths. It was Hwanwoong who moved first, the discomfort of being pressed against the floor finally catching up to him.

“Sorry, I’m probably heavy.” The taller man shifted, pulling out and standing up to get rid of the used condom. Hwanwoong flipped back onto his back, knowing he needed to clean up but too exhausted to even move. He could already feel spots on his body growing sore and knew that his knees were going to be an ugly rainbow in a few hours. But the pleasurable afterglow he currently basked in was worth it. He sighed in contentment as Youngjo knelt beside him, a damp towel in hand.

He let the older man pamper him; normally he wouldn’t be so relaxed. But the intimacy they just shared brought down his walls. He felt safe around him, the loss of control no longer a concern for Hwanwoong. Youngjo’s hands moved to clean him, then the floor. At some point he must have fallen asleep on the ground; he vaguely remembers being pulled up and lead to a bed. There’s an impression of Youngjo kissing him good night after he puts a new shirt on him.

He feels rather than sees Youngjo leave his side; the warmth disappears temporarily. Then he’s back, climbing into the sheets and enveloping him in his arms.

Youngjo mutters something as he pulls him close, but by then drowsiness has dulled his senses. The sentiment’s clear despite the haze in his mind, and Hwanwoong shifts closer before he finally gives in to sleep.

  


Hwanwoong woke up to the feeling of being surrounded. For once, he didn’t mind it. His eyes remained closed, but he knew who was with him. He could feel Youngjo’s steady breathing above his head, the steady rise and fall of his chest against his back. An arm was draped across him; that too was more comforting than confining. Youngjo’s hand covered his, holding on even in his sleep. He’d learned how clingy his bedmate was, but it was surprising that even in sleep, he sought affection.

He placed a soft open-mouthed kiss against the hand, taking care to keep his touch light so as not to wake Youngjo up. Still, Youngjo stirred behind him, pulling him closer and burying his face in his blonde hair. He could hear him sigh contentedly, almost like a purr, before he shifted to place a delicate kiss against Hwanwoong’s ear.

“Good morning.” The voice was warm with sleep, the same soft quality as the blankets wrapped around him. He was answered by Hwanwoong sleepily saying the same and then burying himself deeper in the sheets.

Youngjo reached over him, pressing a button. There was a soft whirring sound; light flooded the room. He could feel it through his eyelids and groaned in protest. The black-haired male chuckled but obliged him, pulling the curtains closed again. “Not a morning person, are you?”

Hwanwoong didn’t respond, but he didn’t need to. His breathing became regular again, falling back to sleep.

The next time Hwanwoong woke, he felt the absence of Youngjo keenly. He wore a pajama top; the way it fit told him it was the model’s. When he got up from the bed, he felt every evidence of what he’d done last night. Aching hips, a sore backside—even without the mirror showing marks and bruises, his body told him he’d been well and truly fucked.

He got in the shower in the hopes to get rid of the worst of the aches, fumbling around the needlessly fanciful controls. Eventually, he managed to adjust the water and used whatever bottles were already open. When he got to the sink, there was a sealed toothbrush beside it already, clearly intended for him to use. He washed his face, brushed his teeth; he went through his entire morning routine in Youngjo’s bathroom.

Clothes were going to prove an issue. Hwanwoong searched the attached dressing room and couldn’t find his own anywhere. He reached into a drawer, pulling out a simple white shirt—simple being a relative term considering it would probably cost him half a year’s salary to buy it for himself. After more rummaging, he found a pair of boxers. They were loose, but they weren’t going to fall off.

Dressed somewhat decently, he left the privacy of Youngjo’s bedroom, following the smell of breakfast. His camera bag was on a table by the door; he took the device out before continuing.

The place was decorated in a style that was very much like the model’s appearance and personality. It was sleek in its use of modern lines but held a warmth in its choice of color and decor. Sunlight streamed in, filtered by white curtains, softening what would have been harsh light. The place screamed expensive, but it wasn’t a magazine spread. Bits and pieces of the person who lived there poked through in photographs, small mementos, and bits of clutter. He took shots, knowing they were for him alone.

He found Youngjo seated in an armchair. His eyes were downcast, looking at the phone in his hand. The black-haired man hadn’t noticed him enter yet, and looked into space, clearly thinking about something. He took a shot; Youngjo heard the familiar snap of a shutter and looked his way. Hwanwoong took another picture, this time capturing the soft look of pleasure on his face when he realized it was he who held the camera.

“Morning. Breakfast on the counter.” Hwanwoong didn’t pay him mind; his focus was on the images he just took. A frown formed on his face as he studied the small screen and Youngjo felt compelled to ask what’s wrong.

Hwanwoong shook his head. “Nothing. For some reason, I keep making the same mistake on a lot of shots with you. I usually do the exact opposite of it.” He thumbed the device off. The blonde walked over to the counter, hopping onto the stool and eating the eggs, ham, and toast. Youngjo stood to join him, standing right across to watch him eat. After last night, Hwanwoong felt comfortable enough to comment on it.

“You do that a lot.”

Youngjo tilted his head in question. “Do what a lot?”

“Watch me.”

“I mean you’re the only one here.” He shrugged. “What else should I watch?”

Food finished, Hwanwoong gulped down the glass of water. “I meant in general.” He frowned. “You stare a lot. Even back when we first met, you were just watching me until I noticed you.”

Youngjo simply looked at him, his expression unreadable. The blonde had a feeling he was being studied, but couldn’t understand why. Finally, he spoke again.

“That wasn’t the first time we met, so that isn’t true.”

Hwanwoong’s eyes widened in surprise. “Wait, when did we meet? Is that how you knew my name?”

“No.” The model chuckled, amused. He clearly had no idea. “When I saw you come in, I asked the staff for your name.”

“Then when—” Hwanwoong’s phone rung. He scrambled to get off the stool and find the device. It was there on the couch, beside his freshly laundered and neatly folded clothes. He grimaced when he realized it was Geonhak. “What’s up?”

“They want you for the Miracle shoot.”

“Why not just text?”

“I was worried you were just going to sleep through it. You sound awake though, so I worried for nothing. That’s it. Bye.” His partner hung up. He knew that Geonhak preferred calling over texting, no matter how little, but it still threw him off. He checked the rest of his notifications; a couple of emails, and then a text from his roommate asking about his whereabouts last night. He replied to the last and ignored the rest, not wanting to worry his friend.

Youngjo took his place at the counter, looking at him curiously when he finally returned to his side.

“Geonhak. I’m taking lead for tomorrow’s shoot.”

“Congrats?”

“Thanks. But that means I have to go to the studio today to figure out what I need to bring tomorrow.”

“Ah.” A single syllable. But Hwanwoong could hear the disappointment and reached over to wrap his arms around his waist. Youngjo responded warmly, pulling him closer and placing a kiss on his forehead. “Come back here after?”

“Am I going to make it past your layers of security?” He’d already forgotten the discussion earlier, Hwanwoong’s mind occupied by the tasks he needed to accomplish today. That suited Youngjo just fine; he wasn’t ready to be exposed just yet.

“Passcode’s R-A-V-N. Three sevens, one two... you get the picture. I’ll talk to the reception desk.” He took Hwanwoong’s chin between his thumb and index finger, tilting his face upwards to press their lips together. It was gentle and intimate, a far cry from the desperate kisses of last night. The shorter man melted into him. When they finally pulled away from each other, a flush stained both their cheeks. “I’ll see you tonight then?”

“Definitely.”

The next few minutes passed quickly. Hwanwoong put on his jeans from yesterday but kept the shirt he stole from Youngjo’s closet on. When he finally left the apartment, the model felt his absence. Physically, the blonde was small, but his presence filled so much of the space around him.

Youngjo walked over to a framed magazine page; one of his first ever solo spreads. It was taken during a time in his life when he was just about ready to give up and leave the scene. The one who’d stopped him from walking away? An interning brunette whose hair was now bleached blonde.

Hwanwoong hadn’t told him his smile was beautiful or anything cheesy like that. Actually, it was much more similar to what happened just this morning. He’d made a mistake taking a shot of him, saying it had too much light. Not exactly the most complimentary comment. It was he said after that had pushed him forward.

> _“It’s amazing though.”_
> 
> _“What is?”_
> 
> _“Yeah, you’re pretty, but most models are.” The backhanded compliment made him flinch. The brunette turned the camera’s preview towards him, unaware of his reaction. “But when you’re in front of the camera, you’re untouchable. It’s your strength, a natural ability to pull people in. More than your face, it’s your presence.”_

They were simple words, not even very well said, but somehow they were what he’d needed to continue. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever tell Hwanwoong how much that brief conversation meant to him. But now that fate had brought them together, he wasn’t about to waste the chance to show how he was irreplaceable to him now.

  


“Youngjo, over here!”

The model followed the waving arm, passing through the crowds. Most recognized him, but he kept moving, avoiding conversation until he reached Hwanwoong. He smiled, returning the hug that greeted him when he finally arrived. Today was a gallery showcase and Twilight Studio’s photographers were amongst the exhibitors. In the year he and Hwanwoong had been together, the latter’s career took a major upward turn after a series of shoots he’d lead were very well-received.

“I gave you permission to use shots of me, but I hope it’s PG.”

He got elbowed to the gut. One of these days he was going to get seriously hurt by the shorter man constantly doing that. “Shut up and look at it.”

In simple serif blocks was the title of Hwanwoong’s work: OVEREXPOSED. None of the images were perfect. In fact, most were an example of the title. But even he could see the focus of work wasn’t Hwanwoong’s technical ability. Instead, it was about the subject.

Some of the shots he recognized; a head-on shot from their most recent job together, the side profile from when they first started dating. Then others he didn’t, like of him laying down on the floor after a hard shoot, another where his focus was on a different camera.

It was the final one that took his heart. Youngjo came in for a closer look. He was looking somewhere far ahead, his eyes focused on something in the distance. Something in his posture looked defeated, but he stifled it, as if unwilling to admit it to anyone, including himself. He looked younger—because he _was_ younger.

It was the picture from when they first met.

“You remembered?”

Hwanwoong fell into step beside him. “I found it while looking for a theme for the exhibit. So this is what you meant.”

He slipped Hwanwoong’s fingers between his, bending down to press their foreheads. “I don’t know if you recall what you said, but you stopped me from giving up back then.”

“Honestly?” Hwanwoong laughed. “I don’t remember the conversation. I just remember taking the picture. You left an impression.”

“Typical Woongie.” He tilted the blonde’s chin up, kissing him on the lips. He saw a flash of light, heard the sound of a scandalized gasp. It was so easy to forget where they were when they were together. “Ah, we might be in trouble.”

He expected Hwanwoong to pull away; the fact he stepped closer surprised him. “Are you okay with letting people know?” Trepidation colored his voice. Youngjo didn’t answer immediately. He didn’t want to give him careless words. But if he was forced to pick between them, Hwanwoong would come out on top. That much he knew.

“I don’t think I have a choice in the matter anymore. But no, I don’t mind. I can deal with whatever happens.” He pulled out his phone; it was already blown up with notifications and panicked messages from his agency. Seoho’s text simply said ‘keep your pda off my timeline.’ It came with an image attached. Opening their conversation, it showed the pic he was pretty sure was taken just now. It would obviously spread fast; they’d made no secret of the fact Youngjo was the subject, so all eyes were on the photographer to begin with.

It was the two of them standing in front of Hwanwoong’s exhibit. They were incredibly close and gave off a sense of intimacy, trapped inside their own bubble. Though only their profiles were visible, it was difficult to deny who the subjects were and what they were doing.

Hwanwoong leaned over to look at the image, ignoring the blatant stares of those around them. He grimaced. “It’s overexposed. We look like ghosts.” The direct flash made it even worse.

“Maybe you can print it out and add it as a last-minute edit to your exhibit.”

The photographer rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t stop the small smile from forming on his lips. He squeezed the hand that held his, leaning his head against Youngjo’s side.

“I'll see if I can find a copy of the original file later.”

That surprised the model. “Why? I was obviously joking.”

“It’s not for the exhibit, stupid.” Hwanwoong shook his head. By now, he should be used to Youngjo missing the point in situations like these. “If it wasn’t for an overexposed picture, I wouldn’t have spoken to you that first time. I think it’s a lucky thing for us.”

The blonde looked behind them, finally noticing members of the crowd trying to take pictures of the couple. He wasn’t bothered now; if you’d asked him a few months ago, Hwanwoong might have felt differently. But the way Youngjo answered told him he was serious and hadn’t said the words blithely to reassure him.

“We should go. I’ll text Doya to cover for me.” He tugged at Youngjo’s hand, leading him away from the people and to an exhibitors-only area of the gallery. There was an exit here where they could leave more or less unseen. Until then, they hid in the storage room until their ride arrived. “We can stay at home until the worst of it blows over. They won’t make it past the security system.”

“Home?” The black-haired man stilled, hesitating. There were implications to that simple word, and he wasn’t sure Hwanwoong realized it himself. He’d always called it ‘his place.’ If the photographer was slowly moving his things in, neither of them ever commented on it.

“Yes, home.”

Dust fluttered around them, while forgotten masterpieces lay against the wall or on shelves, waiting for the day they would be displayed again. The room was dark, illuminated by a single small window. Hardly the most romantic place for such a declaration. Yet for Youngjo, it was perfect. He leaned down to share another kiss with his lover and found himself smiling when he felt arms wrap around his neck in response.

“Okay. Let’s go home.”

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing a fic in over four years. It's a bit of a mess, but I hope you at least somewhat enjoyed it. Let's chat on [twitter](https://twitter.com/sunnyravn)!


End file.
